


Tam

by Spamberguesa



Category: Original Work, Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Alcoholism, Asexual Character, F/M, X-Files References, at all, conspiracy theorists, jan still isn't going to skip off to carterhaugh, she's not mulder, tam honey, tam the selkirk cops aren't pleased with you, tam your social skills need work, terrible first meetings, that wasn't bright, this is what you get, ufo hunters, weaponized cat, well jan, yes they know you're there, you are not in fact sneaky, you wanted to believe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spamberguesa/pseuds/Spamberguesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When strange lights are spotted over Carterhaugh, Jan and her friend Andrea pack their gear and go UFO hunting. What they find is alien, but not in the sense either expected, and Jan’s life soon becomes far more complicated that she ever would have thought (or wanted).</p><p>Being stalked by a hot Elf isn’t nearly as much fun when you’re asexual.</p><p>Features: UFO hunters, conspiracy theorists, a Volkswagen Thing, and an eighteen-pound cat who wants to eat Tam's face.</p><p>Yeah, he doesn't know what he's in for, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carterhaugh

**Author's Note:**

> Given that I’m asexual, I’ve been set a challenge: write an asexual romance novel. While I’ve written romance _into_ things, I’ve never written a straight-up romance, so God knows how this will turn out. I thought a modern adaptation of _Tam Lin_ would do nicely, especially with an added dash of conspiracy theorists and UFO hunters.

There was no UFO.

There was never a UFO, had never been a UFO, but still. Hope sprang eternal, and all that.

Chilled to the bone, clothes and hair wet with dew, Jan drove back to her house in the pale grey light of dawn. Most of her had given up expecting that there ever _would_ be a UFO, but, as her granny would say, at least it got her out in the fresh air.

The sky was clear as a diamond, Venus still low on the western horizon, and she blasted the little car’s heater, trying to force some sensation into her numb fingers. Despite her best efforts, the windscreen fogged, and she wiped at it fruitlessly. She needed a hot shower, a smoke or two, and a nap.

Even when she reached town, there was scarcely any traffic; nobody in town got up this early on a Saturday unless they had no choice. The streets were silent, eerily so, and she couldn’t help but imagine a horde of zombies lurching among them.

Andrea’s little battered Honda was in the drive, though it was doubtful she’d got home much before Jan. In their twenties, before Andrea married, Fridays had been pub night; the pair of them had taken up to hitting the quizzes again, after her extraordinarily bitter divorce – except on clear nights. Then Jan and her equipment had a date with the stars.

She let herself in as quietly as she could, and found a lump of blankets on the sofa that was, given the quantity of blonde hair spilling from one end, presumably her flatmate.

“Carterhaugh.” The word was muffled, bleary, and it made Jan jump when she knelt to unlace her boots.

“What’s that?” she asked, fumbling at the laces with fingers that still had all the feel and dexterity of sausages. Cold had leeched their normal olive into something almost grey.

“Carterhaugh,” Andrea repeated, sitting up. She looked like hell, grey-faced and red-eyed; Jan kept telling her they were too old to be drinking all night and not pay for it the next day, and she kept not listening. “You left your mobile, or I would’ve called you. The news last night said there were weird lights over Carterhaugh.”

“Where even _is_ that?” She tugged a recalcitrant lace, and was rewarded with a snap. “Dammit.”

“Scotland,” Andrea said, rubbing her eyes with the hell of her hand. “Christ, I feel like shit.”

“You look like it, too. If you’re not careful, I’ll start dragging you to my meetings.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Andrea grumbled, hauling herself to her feet. At least she’d changed out of last night’s clothes, even if she _had_ stolen Jan’s Iron Maiden T-shirt.

“That’s what I said,” Jan muttered, kicking off her boot and glaring at it. The other cooperated more willingly, fortunately for it, and she shoved them against the wall, flexing her toes. Even with her heavy wool socks, they too were numb.

She padded into the kitchen, and found it a disaster – Andrea must have tried cooking while drunk, which mean they were lucky she hadn’t burned the whole place down. The house was old and tiny, the kitchen so small that a little mess went a long way. It hadn’t been renovated since the house was first built in the 1930’s, just before World War II broke out; the cabinets were beautifully dark oak, but the faded yellow wallpaper was even fussier than her granny’s, the porcelain sink streaked and stained with rust. The linoleum, a hideous pale green, had peeled so badly that they threw a thrift-store, threadbare brown rug over it.

That rug had a number of crumbs on it, and an empty cheese packet. The counters were piled with pots and plates, their blender half filled with God only knew what. Thank God Aunt Sylvia couldn’t see it now. They’d never hear the end of it.

Jan shook her head. She’d deal with it later. Shower and nap first.

\--

Jan practically fell asleep in the shower, and didn’t bother combing her hair before she collapsed on her bed, nearly landing on the massive white fluffball she occasionally called a cat. Beast, she’d named him, and it was apt; he weighed a good two stone. All he did now was crack open one turquoise eye just long enough to glower at her, before settling back to sleep. It was only a moment before she joined him.

When she woke, it was late morning, and there was a golden square of sunshine on the _I Want to Believe_ poster on her wall. The wallpaper in here was even worse than in the kitchen, so she’d just covered it over with posters and hoped for the best.

She stretched, wincing when her vertebrae popped like a line of firecrackers, and reached for her laptop, nearly thwacking Beast again.

Carterhaugh. Scotland. She hadn’t been back home since she was fourteen, since she got sent to live with Aunt Sylvia and Mum got sent to That Place. There hadn’t been any reason to. Now, though…well, she’d see.

The laptop whirred faintly when she turned it on. It was an older model, the lettering all but worn off the keys, with a corner that got so hot she’d once cooked a marshmallow on it, just to see if she could.

Her browser took a moment to cough up the BBC website, and the images a few more moments to load. The unimaginative headline was ‘The Carterhaugh Lights’, but the pictures themselves were interesting.

Photos of UFO’s were discredited with depressing regularity, but these were exactly what it said they were: great balls of light, hanging in the night sky above the dense, shadowy thicket of Carterhaugh. One was green, another gold; a third hung high and red, like the damn Eye of Sauron.

The pictures had come from multiple sources – al campers, and it seemed they’d so far resisted the best efforts of skeptics.

In spite of herself, a tendril of excitement unfurled in Jan’s gut. It was only ten; if she hurried and got everything together, she could reach Carterhaugh before nightfall.

She wrestled a brush through her hair as she padded down to the kitchen, which was still a mess, nearly cracking her head on the doorway. The house hadn’t been built with six-foot-tall occupants in mind; she went about with a bruise on her forehead if she wasn’t careful. She’d throw together some sandwiches and tea, and give Andrea a poke before she left.

Andrea, who staggered in herself, looking very like a zombie. She’d combed her hair, at least, and washed last night’s stale makeup off her face. “You’re off to Carterhaugh, aren’t you?” she asked, yawning hugely.

“That I am,” Jan said, fishing butter and jam out of the cluttered fridge. “Me and half the other UFO nuts in bloody Britain, I’m sure.”

“I’m coming with you.”

That stopped Jan short. “ _What?_ ” Oh, Andrea had been just as into this sort of thing as she was when they were teenagers, but that was years ago. Andrea, as Aunt Sylvia loved to say, had become a Responsible Adult, which to her meant settling down with some nice young man, in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood.

Except the “nice” young man, wasn’t; the house had been sold to cover his debts, and Andrea lived with Jan, who had happily avoided that kind of drama in her own personal life, thanks so very much.

“Brian was at the pub last night,” Andrea sighed. “With _her_.”

Jan winced. The ‘her’ in question was ten years younger, a dim bit of fluff who seemed to think she’d landed a good catch in Brian, though God knew why. “Ah. If you sick up all over my car, I’ll skin you,” she said, en lieu of sympathy her friend wouldn’t appreciate. Andrea could be prickly like that.

“You’re a grand one. Do something about that hair, while I go find some trousers.”

“Sod off,” Jan said automatically. She slapped a few sandwiches together, putting them in a crinkled Tesco bag with a big bag of crisps, and what was left of the apples she’d bought in a fit of health-food idealism.

Her clothes from earlier were still damp, so she went back up to her room and dug fresh jeans and a wool sweater from her battered dresser, along with a heavy, red-and-black checked quilted hunting jacket. June though it was, it was still bloody cold at night, and it would be worse up north.

Andrea had little idea how to pack sensibly, so Jan added another jacket to her pile. It would be a tent on Andrea, petite and trim as she was; Jan wasn’t just tall, her years at the mechanic had left her quite buff. She wore her hair to her waist in part so people would quit mistaking her for a bloke from behind.

Into her black duffel went spare socks and batteries, as well as binoculars, though she doubted she’d need them. That tendril of excitement grew and strengthened, try though she did to temper it.

Wonder of wonders, Andrea was ready and waiting – and sure enough, her light coat would be as much use as a fart in a windstorm on a chilly Scottish night.

Still, she was smiling, in spite of her morning-after. She’d done precious little of that since her divorce. This had to be progress.

So long as she didn’t sick up in the car.

The car, which took a bit of Tetris to re-load. It was an ’87 Volkswagen Thing, lovingly maintained, but not known for cargo space.

Still, in it went, and off _they_ went, out into the late golden morning.

\--

By the time they reached Carterhaugh, it was well into the evening, and Jan discovered she’d been right: Selkirk was packed with cars. Enterprising street vendors were selling hot buns and cocoa, no doubt in cheerful violation of food-licensing requirements.

Jan filled their Thermoses with cocoa, and gathered their things. It was something of a walk to Carterhaugh, but they had plenty of company, and she felt her pulse quicken when the distant forest came into view.

It looked surprisingly ominous, in no way she could describe. Granted, she hadn’t been camping since she as a kid, but there was a strange sort of shadow to it, something that had nothing to do with the sunset. The trees were beech and oak, mostly; she didn’t know enough about plants to recognize the others. Some were huge and ancient, while others had to be newer.

It definitely didn’t look like a place she’d want to roam about in, accompanied or not.

The grass still smelled sweet from the earlier sunshine, and when they’d got passably near the edge of the forest, she spread out her brown wool car-blanket. She was more than a little amused to watch everyone else take out their equipment, most of which mirrored hers; tripods, cameras of various quality, telescopes. Years of practice let her set up her own in short order, and then there was nothing to do but wait, while the night’s chill descended.

It was something of a _long_ wait, filled with the murmur of those around her. Their presence filled her with a strange sense of communion, such as she’d rarely felt in her life, and she was content to bask in it.

Andrea, however, was not. She shifted uncomfortably where she sat, scowling. “Jan, I need to wee again.”

“Bloody Christ, seriously?” Jan groaned.

“ _Yes_ , seriously. I’m going to go duck behind a bush. Be right back.”

The idea filled Jan with a vague sense of alarm, but Andrea was already up and off, hurrying with a slight, uneven dance to her steps. Yeah, she really _did_ need to wee.

Well, with so many people about, it was unlikely anything would happen to her. Jan leaned back on her elbows, watching the stars wink to life in the deepening purple sky. Even if the lights were inconsiderate enough not to repeat themselves, at least she’d have plenty of company in her disappointment.

Her mobile jangled in her pocket, and she sighed, knowing already it was Aunt Sylvia. She fished it out and silenced it, unwilling to deal with her aunt’s well-meaning but never-ending stream of criticism. She loved her aunt, she really did, but the woman had the tact of a brick, and a firm conviction that she knew what was best for everyone. She’d quiz Jan to death about her outing later, ignoring the fact that Jan was thirty-bloody-two, and could go where she damn well pleased.

She sipped her cocoa while the sunlight died, and various lamps and lanterns took its place, scattered across the field like stars themselves. If Andrea didn’t hurry, she was going to miss the good part. She’d been gone too long already.

Unease prickled in Jan’s stomach. She really _had_ been gone too long, and she’d not brought a torch with her. It was probably pitch-dark under those heavy boughs.

Dammit.

Jan rose, stuffing her camera into her pocket, and fished a torch out of her duffel. Hopefully nobody would nick her stuff while she was away – and hopefully she wouldn’t _be_ away long.

The grass, already dewy, squeaked under her boots, and a strange, free-floating anxiety stirred in her chest. This bloody forest unsettled her more than it ought, so much so that she actually hesitated a moment to step into the trees. Again, thought of zombies crossed her mind; when she swept her torch this way and that, she half expected the beam to land on rotting faces.

“Andrea?” she called, despite the fact that all her instincts were screaming at her to keep quiet. Strangely, the forest felt warmer than the air outside, and it smelled odd, too – a faint, peculiar combination of metal and roses. “Andrea, if you’ve gone and wiped your arse with nettles, I’ll be very annoyed.”

No answer. _Damn_. Her unease deepened with every step she took, butterflies throwing a rave in her gut, sweat gathering at the back of her neck. Andrea wasn’t stupid – once she figured out she was lost, she’d stay put, and she wouldn’t have wandered _that_ far.

Jan hoped, anyway.

“Come on, Andrea, this isn’t bloody funny. If you don’t get your arse out here, I’ll call the cops, and then you’ll be _really_ embarrassed.”

Still there was silence – a truly eerie silence. Nothing rustled in the leaves or undergrowth, no little nocturnal animals. Her knowledge of nature was admittedly hazy, but she was pretty sure forests weren’t meant to be this quiet, even at night.

Quite suddenly, light shone in the distance – it wasn’t torchlight, but nor was it firelight, for it was too soft for the former, and too steady and pale for the latter. Jan, however, was not relieved. Anyone who would voluntarily linger in here after dark was not, she felt, someone she wanted to meet.

She switched off her torch and crept forward, as quietly as she could. Either Andrea was there, or she wasn’t – and if she wasn’t, Jan didn’t want to be spotted.

The scent of metal and roses grew stronger, tickling in her sinuses, and the latter was soon explained – even if the explanation was baffling.

The light shone in a small clearing, though she couldn’t see where it was coming from. It illuminated roses, hundreds of them, red and pink and white, scaling the tree-trunks well above her head.

Jan didn’t have much time to wonder about them, however, for she’d found Andrea – and Andrea was not alone. Somehow, she’d staggered across a bloke – a bloke who stood facing her, and seemed to have her damn near hypnotized.

He was tall, taller than Jan, his unruly hair every bit as long and as black, his skin nearly as pale as the white roses. His long coat was black, too, but the light glinted off silver threads worked into the fabric.

 _What_ had Andrea found? And what in God’s bloody name had he done to her? She looked downright stoned.

Jan forced her unease down, as much as she was able. “Oi!” she called, switching on her torch. “Andrea, you’re going to make me miss the lightshow. Shift your arse.” Her voice, thank God, was even, even if her pulse hammered in her throat.

Both of them looked at her, and she winced at how glazed Andrea’s blue eyes were. The bastard really _had_ given something to her.

 _His_ eyes were clear enough – a piercing, unusually dark blue. His face was almost too smooth to be real, as though it had been cut from marble.

“You must be Jan,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep. His accent was Scottish, though she couldn’t place the region.

“I am,” she said, stepping forward in spite of her frayed nerves, “and she’s coming with me.” She grabbed Andrea’s arm, which mercifully seemed to rouse her a little.

The man was staring at Jan with a fascination she _really_ didn’t like. “She did not say you were…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Whatever she didn’t say, she’ll not say it now. We’ve got a UFO to spot.” She dragged Andrea forward, but her friend’s steps were drunken, uneven.

Terror spiked through her when he grabbed Andrea’s other arm – obviously not hard enough to hurt, but enough to pull her to a stop. That odd look in his eyes, the look Jan could put no name to, deepened into something close to unholy.

Jan was not a violent person. She’d never hit anyone in her life, and didn’t properly know how to – which was probably why, when she slugged him, something in her hand went _snap_.

Pain stabbed through it, jagging all the way up her arm, but it did the trick – the bastard let go, staggering backward, his face a mask of complete shock.

Jan didn’t wait for him to recover. She hoisted Andrea over her shoulder and legged it, sprinting as fast as she could through the tangled undergrowth, sweating and swearing and thanking God Andrea weighed about as much as a wet cat.

Even if the twat followed, there were so many people outside the forest that he surely wouldn’t dare try anything stupid. _She_ might not be violent, but this was, after all, Scotland; there were plenty who would make up for her lack.

Her lungs burned, though not half so much as her hand, and she cursed her fifteen years of heavy smoking. Still, she could see light ahead – and, terrified though she was, a little part of her thrilled that it was green.

She burst out of the trees, panting like a dog on a hot day, ignoring the startled looks of those nearest.

“Somebody call 999,” she gasped, staggering toward her blanket. “My friend went for a wee and just got mugged by some nutter.”

She fell to her knees, trying not to drop Andrea when she set her on the blanket – fortunately, Andrea was lucid enough to help her. Already her right hand was swelling to an abnormal degree, and trying to shift her fingers sent a spike of agony through it – she must have broken something. _Shit_. Her boss, she thought dimly, was going to kill her.

All around her was the excited chatter of voices – more than one person, it would seem, had called the cops. Thank bloody God.

It said a lot about Jan that, in spite of everything, she fumbled her camera out of her pocket with her left hand, and turned it to the sky. She wasn’t about to let some creepy pretty-boy stop her getting what she came for, dammit. She was so out-of-breath that it wasn’t as if she could do anything else, anyway.

The lights were everything she had hoped they would be, enough so that a thread of elation joined her nerves. Her hand hurt like a bitch, her lungs were practically on fire – but Andrea was safe, and they were looking at – well, she didn’t know what. Something not of this world.

“Bloody hell,” Andrea breathed, her voice mercifully steady and stable. Jan looked at her, and found that her eyes were already a little clearer.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

The lights, three great balls, hung not far above the trees, red and gold and green. The crowd let out a collective exclamation when they actually moved, swooping and diving around one another and _oh_ , it was perfect. They were completely silent, without even the faintest sound of an engine of any kind.

This was worth a broken hand.

\--

Like all good parties, this one was eventually broken up by the cops. And none of _them_ seemed pleased by the lights at all.

They took Jan and Andrea to the A&E, where Jan had her hand set and Andrea tested for roofies. This being Saturday, the A&E was bloody busy, mostly with drunks and their various injuries. As a result, it was very loud, so the cops took the pair of them into an empty room for questioning.

It was a little room, tidy and sterile, smelling strongly of disinfectant that left a bitter taste at the back of Jan’s throat. She was so high on painkillers, however, that she didn’t really mind.

Even with the drugs, though, she thought the sergeant looked a little more worried than was strictly warranted. He was a portly, dark-haired man, somewhere in his middle forties, his tired grey eyes tinted with anxiety.

Jan and Andrea sat side-by-side on the bed, there being nowhere else _to_ sit, while he asked them an endless stream of questions.

“He was tall,” Jan said. “I’d say three or four inches taller than me. Long black hair, blue eyes, really pale.”

“Pretty,” Andrea added, with a slightly blitzed smile. Whatever she’d been given, it still hadn’t worn off all the way.

Even Jan, who had never had any interest in that sort of thing, had to concede that point. _Creepy_ , yes, but also very pretty, yet not in an effeminate way. His features were strong, and really did look like they’d been cut straight from marble.

Pity he was a cretin who accosted women in the woods.

The sergeant, for whatever reason, looked even more uneasy. “Did he give you a name?”

“Tam,” Andrea said. “Bit odd, that.”

Jan didn’t miss the way the sergeant froze, very briefly. “Does this bloke have a history of this shite?” she asked.

“You could say that,” he said grimly. “Miss Miller, they want to keep you overnight for observation. Miss MacLaren, you might as well get a cot – you’ll not find a motel room tonight.”

“I could probably sleep on a rock,” Jan said, and meant it.

\--

The single hair was long and black, twined around his fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He could find her with it, when the full moon came. Perhaps she might actually be the one.

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Volkswagen Thing is indeed a real car, notable for having a cab that can be almost entirely disassembled with very little effort.
> 
> Let me know what you think -- if you like it or hate it, drop me a review.


	2. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tam and Jan meet again, he discovers why being a creeper is not a good idea, and she wonders just what the hell she’s got herself into.

Andrea wound up having to drive them home the next day, since Jan couldn’t drive a manual one-handed.

Not that Jan minded. She was a strong woman, but pelting through the forest with Andrea slung over her shoulder had left her back and her legs extremely sore, her muscles burning every time she stepped wrong. She slumped uncomfortably in the passenger seat, watching the queue of cars that migrated out of Selkirk. A number of people were staying for another night, but now that she had what she’d been after, she had no desire to linger.

She took out her camera while they inched along, fumbling open the viewfinder so she could watch her footage. It was crystal-clear and perfect, full of the awed voices of their companions, and she smiled. Finally, she had something to put on her YouTube account.

“What do you suppose they are?” Andrea asked.

“Dunno,” Jan said. “I like not knowing.”

Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, yet again, and she fought a sigh. She couldn’t put Aunt Sylvia off forever, but she’d deal with it once they were home.

“Your aunt again?” Andrea asked.

“Probably.”

“She _does_ realize you’re an adult, right?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Jan grumbled. “She doesn’t approve of me. Nevermind that I’ve got a steady job, never mind that I quit drinking – I’m not like Mary, so I’m doing it wrong.” She was of an age with her cousin, who was a schoolteacher with two children and a husband who did something in finance. She was what Aunt Sylvia thought a woman was Supposed to Be – university-educated, accomplished, with a family and a job she could brag about. In other words, everything Jan wasn’t.

Which wasn’t precisely fair. Even when she was at her worst with the drink, Jan had always had a job, had always paid her bills on time. Being a mechanic wasn’t glamorous, but it was skilled work and it paid well enough. She wasn’t on drugs or the dole; she was healthy and had decent credit. 

It was enough for Jan. Why couldn’t it be enough for her aunt? Why was being content with what she had such a crime? She’d never had any interest in men – or women, for that matter. She liked kids well enough, but not enough to make her want any of her own. She was happy being Auntie Jan, who got to spoil Mary’s kids rotten when she had them.

All of that, apparently, was terrible. Unfortunately for Aunt Sylvia, Jan didn’t care.

\--

Andrew MacDougal pinched the bridge of his nose. A dull, thumping headache was fast building behind his eyes.

Tam. Bloody Tam Lin. Everyone in Selkirk knew the ballad – God knew it drew enough tourists. What few were aware of was that the bastard was in fact very real.

It had been over a century since anyone who fit that description was seen in Carterhaugh, but it matched the description exactly. Dozens of women had come staggering out of the forest for five years, dazed and confused – though not, thank God, assaulted in any way.

That had been bad enough in all conscience, but there had been a similar rash of incidents – fifty-one years earlier, with what sounded alarmingly like the exact same suspect. At first, they’d naturally assumed it had to be the son or the grandson of the original assailant, which would have been nasty all on its own; they didn’t need a family of criminals copy-catting each other across the generations, however unlikely a scenario that was.

The constables had searched the length and breadth of Carterhaugh, and found no sign of a perpetrator. Eventually, the attacks, such as they were, abruptly stopped. It was assumed the perp had left the area – until a fortnight ago, when Claire Drummond came stumbling out of the trees, dazed and blinking in the sunlight.

There had been four more since then, not including the Miller woman. They’d all tested negative for drugs, but their serotonin levels had been through the roof. None seemed to know what had happened, though mercifully they too showed no signs of actual assault.

At least the MacLaren woman had slugged him. A big strapping lass like that – Andrew hoped she’d broken the bugger’s nose.

He looked down at the most recent composite sketch, lying on his desk next to the one from 1892. They were as close to identical as two drawings from different people could be. And though there was no image from the 1841 cases, the description was nevertheless an exact match.

Andrew wouldn’t have believed it, if not for his dad – _his_ granddad had worked the 1892 cases, and had actually _seen_ Tam Lin. Given that he’d been as unimaginative, uptight a bastard as had ever walked the Earth, he had no reason to lie when he said there was no way someone with skin and ears like Tam could be human. Evidently he’d actually waxed poetic about the bloke’s eyes.

He might not actually be _hurting_ anyone, but Andrew – and the rest of the station – wished he’d go away again. If this got out, the ballad enthusiasts would come thundering into town, and would have to fight the UFO nuts for parking space. God only knew when _they_ would leave.

The damn lights had to be Tam’s doing. There couldn’t be any way they were a coincidence, not when they’d started so soon after he’d done…whatever it was he did to Claire.

 _Maybe they’re like the lights those deep-sea fish have_ , Andrew thought. _Maybe he’s trying to attract prey, even if all he does is dope them somehow_. With any luck, he’d catch another like MacLaren, and get his face smashed in for his trouble.

\--

Jan took a Vicoden as soon as they got home, and filled the sink with as many dishes as would fit before finally ringing Aunt Sylvia.

The first thing her aunt said was, naturally, “Young lady, do you or do you not know how to answer a phone?” For all her airs, her accent was pure Cockney, even after all these years in Sunderland.

“And you wonder why I never call,” Jan said dryly. “Andrea and I were out, some bloke tried to grope her, and I broke my hand lamping him out. Forgive me for not phoning from A&E.” That was…broadly what had happened, anyway. Her aunt didn’t need to know the details.

Wonder of wonders, that was greeted with _silence_. A definite first.

“She’s fine, I’m fine, but I need to let Doug know I’ll have to be on light duty until the cast comes off,” Jan went on, shutting the tap off with her elbow before the bubbles could overflow.

Finally, her aunt spoke. “You _hit_ someone?”

Jan shut her eyes, trying to count to ten, but only made it to five before she snapped, “Of course I bloody did! What was I supposed to do, stand there and let her get molested?”

“There’s no need to _swear_ , Janet.”

“I’m hanging up now, Aunt Sylvia,” Jan growled, and hit disconnect. She set the ringer to silent and trudged up to her room, bringing a bowl of kibbles for Beast.

The cat scarfed his food while she fumbled to set up her laptop and camera, transferring the video file to the computer and her external hard drive – no way was she going to risk losing this.

The phone buzzed a few more times before finally going still, and she used the lull to call her boss – who, predictably, was not happy – but Doug at least understood.

“Hope you knocked his teeth out,” he said. “Stay home a few days. I’ll figure out something for you to do around here, and you ride that Vicoden.”

“Can do,” she said. “Bye.”

“Bye, Jannie. Take care.”

She hung up, and uploaded the footage to her YouTube account – she’d had it for six years, but this was the first thing she’d ever actually put on it. Typing up the description with only her left hand was a laborious process, but it would, she was sure, be worth it.

For now, however, she was at loose ends. She couldn’t actually wash the dishes one-handed, but she could tidy up the rest of the kitchen, at least.

\--

Tam let the lights burn one more night, mostly to keep this horde of people where they were. The moon was full; he could hunt.

Unfortunately, that meant he had to pass through Faerie.

For centuries, ballads had been sung of the land of Elves, the tricky, immortal beauty of the place. For centuries, they had been right, but no more.

The humans had worked with iron for over a thousand years, but some hundred and fifty past, that use had exploded. Faerie had begun to sicken, and it had only grown worse with each passing year. At the same time, it had become ever more unsafe to venture outside to Earth. Few left them milk or meat anymore; few enough even _believed_ in them. And Fae, whatever they liked to think, needed that belief. Without it, the weaker among them sickened, and even the strongest would feel the effect eventually.

For five hundred years he had lingered under his own curse, but now – now there was Jan. Jan, tall and strong – not fearless, but able to master her fear enough to strike him.

It was her eyes that had first arrested him. Never had he seen a human with truly black eyes, but with hers it was impossible to differentiate pupil from iris. What was truly intriguing, however, was that she appeared immune to his influence. _No one_ , man or woman, had ever fully managed that.

She might just be the one. Nowhere in the curse did it say he needed to seduce the one who would break it – a good thing, since he rather doubted that was possible. He would fine Jan, and see what might be done with her. _Through_ her.

She had to love him. Nowhere did it say she had to _desire_ him.

Off he went, into the twisted paths of Faerie. So long as the moon was full, he could leave Carterhaugh, but he had to hurry – time passed differently here. A week could be a year in the outside world, or a decade; an hour, a day. It was easy to lose track.

Currently, it was night here, too, but the moon hung lifeless in a sky long since bereft of stars. The air too was flat, with little of the tingle of magic lingering – warm, but warmth without substance. The grass, once such a vivid green, had faded to yellow, dry and brittle; the trees, oak and beech and ash, died by slow degrees, their leaves brown and curled.

Patches of life remained, but they grew smaller by the decade, and were a shadow of their former selves. Yes, the realm had once been a treacherous place, filled with illusion and sometimes deadly enchantment, but still he grieved for what it had once been. Earth, even with all its iron, was now a more pleasant place to live.

The strand of hair told him where to find Jan. Wherever she went, he could follow. He intended to make certain she had no desire to wander.

\--

Jan crashed, and she crashed hard. Though she’d slept well last night, she’d only had five hours the night before, and she was too old now to handle that without paying for it.

She was so tired that she didn’t know why she suddenly snapped wide awake at two a.m., but wake she did, fully and immediately – and almost hit herself in the face with her cast when she went to rub her eyes. Dammit. 

The painkillers had worn off, which meant everything ached. The moonlight was bright enough that she could easily see the lump that was Beast when she gave him an awkward, left-handed scritch. With a groan, she sat up, fumbling for the bottle of Vicoden – and froze.

The nutter, the goddamn bloody nutter from Carterhaugh, was sitting on her dresser.

Jan screamed blue murder, instinct sending her groping for a weapon. Unfortunately, instinct decided the best weapon was Beast – she hurled the cat at him before she even knew what she was doing.

Beast, naturally, did not appreciate such a rude awakening – he let out an outraged yowl, a yowl that only grew louder when he hit the nutter full in the face.

The man’s indignant yelp would, under other circumstances, have been absolutely hilarious. It turned into a grunt of pain when the furious cat latched onto his face, hissing and spitting.

She used the distraction to scramble out of bed, and immediately collapsed when her left leg, asleep and insensate, gave out beneath her. Beast, the coward, went tearing out of the room, trampling right over the top of her in the process.

Jan climbed to her feet, intent on fleeing as best she could – and forgot to duck when she reached the door. She cracked her head on the lintel so hard that dark stars bloomed behind her eyes. It sent her staggering backward, landing hard on her bed again, as stunned as a sparrow that had crashed into a window.

“You know, I have lived for over five hundred years, yet I believe that is the first time anyone has ever thrown a _cat_ at me.” Though his voice was every bit as rich and deep as she remembered, his words were… _cranky_ , for lack of a better term.

Jan’s vision struggled to focus as she looked at her unwanted guest. He had a number of bloody scratches on his pale face – at least Beast had taken his pound of flesh before running like buggery. Good. If she was about to die, at least this twat would leave scarred.

She tried to sit up, but agony flared through her skull, and her stomach roiled. Even the force of her terror, the lurch of her heart, wasn’t enough to give her momentum. “That’s what you bloody get,” she found herself saying, entirely independent of her own will. Where the hell was Andrea? There was no way she hadn’t heard all that.

Jan made another attempt to rise, and only succeeded in crashing to the floor in an inglorious heap that sent pain jagging through what felt like every nerve she had. She might have screamed, but she couldn’t be sure.

A hand closed around her upper left arm, hauling her to her feet with frankly terrifying strength – and somehow, the pain slipped away, draining through her feet like water through a sieve.

What.

It stunned the terror right out of her, at least for the moment. It wasn’t like Vicoden, which both dulled her senses and left her high; the pain was just…gone.

She looked up at him, searching his face. In the moonlight, she could see him clearly – his skin really was too smooth to be real, even with the blood trickling down it. His black hair sparked blue in the pale light, but most striking were his eyes. This close, she could see that their deep blue was flecked with silver, like stars in an evening sky.

“How did you do that?” she asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of her tone.

“It is a gift,” he said, with a slight smirk. “If I release you, will you run?”

“Will you kill me and eat my brain if I do?” she asked.

Now he looked frankly insulted. “No,” he said, letting go of her wrist and dabbing at his face. His hand was fever-warm, and the air felt cool where it had been. “ _Why_ did you hurl your cat at me?” he added, sounding perilously close to petulant.

“Because I woke up and found some twat had broken into my bedroom,” she retorted. Some dim part of her told her she ought to be running anyway, but all sense of urgency had dissipated with her pain. For whatever odd reason, she didn’t want to run. Not yet, anyway. “Next time you want to talk to someone, ring the bell. Breaking and entering is just creepy.”

“Duly noted.” He ran one long white hand over his face, and both scratches and blood vanished.

Jan recoiled a little. “How – what _are_ you?” Again, self-preservation tried to poke her, to goad her to flee, and again it lost. “Are you an alien?”

That stupidly attractive face only managed to look even more insulted. “ _No_ ,” he said.

“Then what –” Only now, as he tilted his head in annoyance, did she catch sight of his left ear. His unmistakably _pointed_ left ear.

No. Just no. Jan wanted to believe, had always wanted to believe, but now, when faced with walking evidence of the supernatural, her mind rebelled. This tall, beautiful, pointy-eared creature, who could take away pain and heal his own wounds with only a touch – she wasn’t sure if she was excited, or about to be sick. The fluttering in her gut could be either, or both.

“You’re an Elf,” she said, hardly able to believe what she was saying. “You’re a bloody Elf, aren’t you?” Her granny used to leave bowls of milk on the steps at holidays, as offering to the Elves and fairies, though it was the neighborhood cats that got it.

“Yes,” he said, and for the first time, he actually smiled, albeit faintly.

Jan poked his shoulder, the fabric of his black coat surprisingly soft beneath her fingertip. She didn’t know why she was surprised at his solidity, given his earlier grip on her wrist, but she was. He was _real_.

Real, and probably dangerous. All the legends of the Fair Folk agreed that you were better off avoiding them, because an encounter with an Elf or a fairy rarely ended well for the mortal involved. “What do you want?” she asked, trepidation breaking through the near giddiness of her sense of validation. “It can’t just be to watch me sleep, like a bloody creeper.”

“It is not,” he said. He lifted a hand to touch her hair, but she swatted it away. “I mean you no harm, Jan. I need your aid.”

“With what?” she asked, tone wary despite herself.

He sighed. “It is better if I show you,” he said. “Come to Carterhaugh, Jan, when next you are able.”

If he truly was an Elf, that would be fantastically stupid. Fairies, so the stories went, couldn’t lie, but they were extremely good at twisting the truth. His definition of ‘no harm’ might not match hers at all. She wasn’t Mulder – she didn’t have a Scully to come save her arse if she ran off and did something that was potentially fatally idiotic.

“You do not trust me,” he said, and though there was no surprise in his voice, there was a thread of sorrow.

“I know my mythology too well,” she said, surprised to find herself almost apologetic. “I punched you and hit you in the face with a cat. You’ve got every reason to want to – to haul me off to Faerie and make me eat my own liver. Or worse.”

He snorted, and it was such an incongruously _human_ sound that it startled her. “You say you know your myths,” he said, his silver-flecked eyes uncomfortably piercing. “Do you know the ballad of Tam Lin?”

Tam Lin. Tam. Her eyes widened, roving over his face. “That can’t be you,” she said. “Janet set Tam free.”

He smiled, faint and bitter. “She did,” he said. “Unfortunately life, unlike songs, does not always end so neatly. But that is a long and unpleasant story, and I will not inflict it upon you now. For now, rest. I will see you again – and next time, do not hurl your cat at me.”

Before she could respond, he turned – and vanished, leaving nothing but a faint scent of metal and roses.

Jan sank onto her mattress, pulse racing, and wondered what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Tam, but stalking isn't attractive.


	3. Fairy Repellent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which, among other things, Jan does some research and discovers peeing in your doorway is a good way to keep away unwanted fairies, and she and Tam Lin manage a conversation not involving projectile felines.

Jan sat still a good half hour, before finally rising to see where the bloody hell Andrea was. With walls as thin as theirs were, there was no way she’d slept through that racket.

Except that, apparently, she had. When Jan stuck her head through her flatmate’s door, she found Andrea well out, with a lump that could only be Beast under her white duvet. Jesus – had Tam Lin done something to her? _Again?_

Jan shook her awake, and nearly got slapped in the process – though she was too relieved to care. She’d been more than a little afraid Andrea _wouldn’t_ wake.

“What the _hell_ , Jan?” Andrea demanded, though her voice was too thick with sleep for it to be very effective. “It’s arse o’clock in the morning.” She shoved her hair out of her face, blinking in the bright moonlight.

She was perfectly lucid, and Jan sagged with relief, sinking to the floor. “I had a visitor,” she said, prying a shoe out from under her arse. “Tam. The nutter from Carterhaugh. He showed up in my bedroom, and – well, I don’t know how it didn’t wake you. I threw Beast at him.”

Andrea sat bolt upright, her eyes huge. “Christ, Jan, did you call the cops?”

“No,” Jan sighed, resting her chin on her knees, “and I don’t know that I should, because it sounds mad. Andrea, he healed all the scratches on his face, and when he left, he just…disappeared. I’d sound like a nutter myself if I did – and if he can come and go without a door, what good would it do?”

Really, the fact that he’d managed to find her in the first place dropped a ball of dread into her stomach. He’d seen her for less than a minute, knew nothing but her first name, and he’d tracked her down in less than a _day_.

“What did he want?” Andre asked, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed, and kicking Beast in the process. Surprisingly, the cat didn’t hiss. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Jan said, and told her all he’d said. “I’m not going anywhere near Carterhaugh, but I doubt he’ll give up easily. He said he’d see me again.”

Christ, she wanted a drink. She wanted a whole row of drinks. There were some things only the burn of alcohol would help with, and waking up to an Elf on your dresser was one of them. One thing was for damn sure: she wasn’t going back to sleep _here_.

“Pack a bag,” she said, rising. “We’re getting a hotel. Blow this.” Thank bloody God she had the day off tomorrow. If Tam Lin actually was what he claimed – and he’d given her some pretty compelling evidence that he was – there had to be a way of keeping him out of her house. She knew fairies hated iron, but surely there was more than that. She’d ward this house within an inch of its life if she had to, because she absolutely did not want to move.

Besides, if he’d found her here, she had an unfortunate suspicion he could find her anywhere.

\--

Finding a hotel proved bloody difficult at three in the morning; it was nearly four before they managed to get a room, at a seedy little inn at the edge of the city.

Andrea fell asleep again almost immediately, but Jan lay awake on the lumpy mattress, petting Beast and staring at a water-stain on the ceiling. The room smelled like someone had been smoking in it – and not just tobacco.

Just what the hell was she to do? She’d always wanted evidence of the supernatural, but this was not what she’d meant. Even if Tam wasn’t actually _that_ Tam, he obviously wasn’t human.

She knew what Mulder would do – he’d haul arse to Carterhaugh, probably without telling anyone, and get aforesaid arse handed to him. Honestly, without Scully he probably would have been dead five times over. No, she couldn’t be Mulder.

Library first. If she couldn’t find anything there…well. She’d have to resort to more extreme measures.

Once she actually figured out what those were.

Sunrise lit the shabby room gold, brightening the flat beige walls. There was no point trying to go back to sleep; she’d see if the shower was fit for human use, and get to researching. Unfortunately, while she’d brought her laptop, the charger was still somewhere in her room, and the battery was just about dead – there would be no early-morning Googling while she waited for the library to open.

Beast protested when she sat up – poor cat. She was lucky he wanted anything to do with her, after she used him as a projectile weapon. Part of her didn’t want to leave him alone in a strange room, but she could hardly take him with her.

Jan hauled herself off the bed with a groan, padding barefoot across the thin carpet. The bathroom, she found, was surprisingly decent, even if all the fixtures were probably older than she was.

The hot water felt marvelous, but trying to wash her hair with one hand was more difficult than she would have thought, and she hit her already tender forehead with her cast when she went to wrap a towel around it. Tam Lin’s supernatural painkiller evidently came with a time limit. Great.

When she wiped steam of the cracked mirror over the sink, she found that she did in fact have a fantastic bruise: the upper half of her forehead, disappearing into her hairline, was an alarmingly dark shade of purple. The line of it was sharp and even, too; she was half surprised she didn’t have a dent in her skull.

Well, shit. She didn’t have any makeup to cover it up, and Andrea’s was far too light, assuming she’d even thought to grab it in the first place. _This_ was going to earn her some stares.

Trying to brush her hair was just as annoying as washing it, and she couldn’t put it in a ponytail one-handed.. Even buttoning her jeans was difficult, and tying shoelaces was impossible. Fortunately, she had a pair of trainers so old she could stuff her feet in them without the need to untie them. Black T-shirt and a green-checked flannel, and she was set.

Her purse was actually a big, over-the-shoulder Army bag, the green canvas worn and faded. She grabbed it, and poked Andrea to tell her she was headed out. Her flatmate grunted acknowledgement, and went back to sleep almost immediately.

Off Jan went, stopping to pick up a muffin from the so-called Continental Breakfast. Early though it was, there was a modicum of warmth in the rising sun, the eastern sky tinted salmon and gold. Nobody else was about; she had the car park entirely to herself, and she paused, letting the stillness sink in, breathing the faint scent of dew-damp asphalt.

The first bus of the day should be showing up in ten minutes or so, so she hurried to find a stop and pondered while she ate her muffin.

The ballad of Tam Lin had been pretty clear about his rescue. The Queen of the Elves conceded defeat, and he went off with Janet, presumably mortal once more. He very obviously was _not_ mortal now – so was he never turned back, or was he turned, then turned again? If he was stuck in Carterhaugh once more, it was probably safe to assume the Queen had sunk her claws back into him.

But that was centuries ago. If she’d been that angry, surely she would have sacrificed him to hell by now, like she’d originally planned. There wasn’t any way Jan was going to find out unless she asked him. She could only hope the lore about fairies being unable to lie was true.

But here came the bus. Much of her truly did want to talk to him again – she just didn’t want him in her bloody bedroom. If she couldn’t stop him repeating that creepy performance, she’d never sleep again.

\--

The Bunny Hill library was a large, bright, airy building, the picture windows letting the sunshine stream in. Squashy blue armchairs scattered throughout it, so that anyone who wished to linger could read in peace. The place smelled of paper, old and new, along with a faint, citrusy whiff of some cleaner or other.

Jan had had four hours to kill before it opened, so she ate a proper breakfast at a little hole-in-the-wall café, and walked the rest of the way to the library. Fortified by sweet tea and sweeter waffles, she was ready to tackle her research. By which she first meant Google. With her useless right hand, she wanted to know which books she ought to look for, before she went pawing through the stacks and knocking everything over.

Given that this was Monday, she wasn’t surprised that she was the only one in here so early. It meant she didn’t have to feel like an idiot while she tried to type one-handed. The computers were a lot newer than her laptop, the keyboards still stiff, which meant she made even more typos than she otherwise might have done.

She started off with ‘traditional protection against fairies’, and hoped no nosey librarian would come peeking over her shoulder.

Amusingly, the first result on the list was ‘fairy.monstrous.com’, that opened with a disturbing image of what looked like a leprechaun on crystal meth. Jan scrolled down, unsurprised to find iron listed, but there was also, among other things, bells, bread, oatmeal, and _human piss_. Well, that would drive off anyone, fairy or not. She’d stick with the bread and the bells, thanks so much.

She hit ‘print’ and rose – and choked on her own spit when she turned to find Tam Lin standing right behind her chair.

Why she didn’t scream, she never did know. Ditto why she didn’t hit him. She just stood, frozen, unable to move or speak, staring at him.

He didn’t look half so pale in actual daylight – though somehow, it served to make his eyes seem darker, which only rendered the silver flecks brighter by contrast. His coat was different today – still black, but with rust-colored threads woven through it, glinting faintly in the sunlight. Coupled with his height and his hair, he’d stand out terribly just about anywhere.

“You need none of those things,” he said, oddly gently. “I swear I will not creep into your room again.”

That damn voice made it difficult to pay attention to his words. No, Jan wasn’t attracted to men – or women – in the way that most people were, but that didn’t mean she was deaf or blind. She could appreciate the beauty in someone’s face or voice in the same way she could a picture or a song – and Tam Lin ranked right up there with some of the prettiest of both.

“Trust no one,” she said at last, only half of her own volition. “And you need to wear a bell.”

If she was smart, she’d run like buggery. Aliens were one thing, but the Fair Folk were well-known to be insanely dangerous. Sticking around – even talking to him – could land her in even more trouble.

But she couldn’t. Even now, she wanted to believe. And if Tam Lin could find her here as easily as he had at her home, she suspected that running really _was_ pointless.

“Walk with me, Jan,” he said, that strange thread of sorrow in his eyes. “You will never trust me if you do not know me.”

Stupid as it was, she was tempted. “No offense, but you sort of stick out,” she said, her eyes raking him up and down.

He smirked a little. “People will see what I wish them to see,” he said. “You people are quite right about fairies and glamour.”

Well, she couldn’t miss _that_. They’d be in a public place; he wasn’t likely to try anything to creepy. She grabbed her printout and stuffed it in her bag, the paper crinkling. “Tea shop,” she said.

Tam shook his head. “Park,” he countered. “There is too much iron here.”

Jan winced. She didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to make him sick. Maybe that was why, even now, he was too pale for his hair. “Okay,” she said. She must be mad, going off somewhere more-or-less alone with him – but if she went on her own terms, maybe he wouldn’t stalk her later. She didn’t care how relatively benign he seemed: simply by being what he was, he could very easily not be.

“There’s one not far,” she said. “C’mon.”

The librarians didn’t give them a second glance when they left, and Jan wondered what they saw when they looked at Tam Lin. She wondered if what _she_ saw was really him, or if he was putting up a glamour for her, too.

Even in the brief time she’d been inside, the day had warmed, and she basked in the feel of the sun on her face. Spring had already been unusually warm, and she wondered if they’d actually get a hot summer for once. 

She was a little too acutely aware of Tam Lin beside her, though he wasn’t invading her personal space; the air around him seemed drier, somehow, and he smelled like a summer storm, like ozone and rain.

 _Petrichor_ , she thought. Naturally, she’d learned the word from _Doctor Who._

“All right, one question,” she said, as they trod along the pavements. “Why me? Why me, out of every bloody idiot who’s probably wandered into your forest?”

He was quiet a moment. “You are immune,” he said eventually.

Jan looked up at him. “Huh?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted clarification.

“You are immune,” he repeated, his star-flecked eyes quite serious when he looked at her. “To me. To what I am, and what I do. Your friend Andrea, the others – if I could ensnare them so easily, so could others. You, however, hit me.”

“I won’t apologize for it,” she said, a little awkwardly, for she didn’t know what else _to_ say. “You had Andrea off her nut. I thought you’d drugged her.”

“In a sense, I did,” he said, and Jan abruptly realized that he was leading the way, not her – leading her into the Bishopwearmouth Cemetery, of all places. Years and years of zombie movies had made Jan leery of cemeteries, even one as tidy and bright as this one. “Your kind have always been simple to beguile. _I_ was,” he added, not a little bitterly.

Jan arched an eyebrow. “The ballad said the Queen caught you when you fell off your horse,” she said. “That’s hardly your fault.”

He looked away, frowning slightly at the neat rows of white headstones. “I did not need to follow her,” he said. “I was young and stupid, and she was very beautiful. She bewitched me, as I bewitched your friend.” His eyes returned to her. “As I could not bewitch _you_. What are you, Jan, that you can resist me so?”

Jan felt obscurely insulted, though she couldn’t have said why. “How the bloody hell should I know?” she demanded. “What were you even trying to do?”

“To test you,” he said simply. “To enthrall you.”

Looking at him, she could see why other people might _be_ enthralled. It wasn’t just his appearance – his voice, his very presence, would probably do it for anyone receptive to that sort of thing in ways Jan didn’t understand. Sure, he was more than easy on the eyes, but she had no desire to rip his clothes off. In truth, the idea actually grossed her out a little. If that was what ‘enthralling’ made a person do, it was no wonder it failed on her. She doubted, however, that she could successfully explain asexuality to him, so she just shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m weird that way,” she said. “Always have been. And I’ll warn you now – try anything funny and I’ll break your nose.”

To her surprise, he smiled, running his right hand over one of the headstones. “If you were not, as you put it, ‘weird’, this would not work. If I cannot distract you, no one can.”

Wasn’t he full of himself. Jan crossed her arms, and said, “You still haven’t told me what ‘this’ is.”

He said nothing, but he looked distinctly unhappy, his eyes sweeping the lawn, the headstones – looking everywhere but at her. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, and his fingers drummed on the headstone, an uneven staccato. She resisted the urge to tap her foot, but still, no answer was forthcoming.

“You can’t say, can you?” she asked, thinking of fairies and their curses. “You literally can’t speak it.”

A jerky nod was her only answer. Well, shit.

“I can show you,” he said, releasing a long breath. “If you will let me.”

Yeah, _that_ wasn’t going to happen. A single conversation – or at any rate, a single, cat-free conversation – wasn’t nearly enough to tempt her back to Carterhaugh, with or without him. Jan might be open-minded, but she’d like to think she wasn’t gullible.

“If you think I’ll just hop up to Carterhaugh with you, you’re bloody mistaken,” she said, not unkindly. Maybe he _was_ some desperate Elf in need of help, as he’d been in the ballad – but maybe he wasn’t.

He smiled again. “You would be in great danger, Jan, if you trusted so lightly. Faerie is a dangerous place.”

“Who said I’m going to Faerie?” she asked. “Carterhaugh’s bad enough.”

Tam Lin took a step toward her. “The picture on your wall,” he said. “You want to believe, but you will not truly believe what you have not seen.”

He was right, goddammit, and she kind of hated him for it. That did not, however, mean she was ever going into bloody _Faerie_. Again, not Mulder.

“Don’t you want to _know_?” he asked, and she’d swear his voice had dropped an octave.

“Yes,” she said, regarding him steadily, “but not at the risk of my life, or my freedom, or whatever else I might lose.”

“You’ll go,” he said, with a rather aggravating amount of confidence, “once you trust me.”

Again, Jan arched an eyebrow. “Who says I’ll ever trust you? ‘Trust no one’, remember? Smart words to live by, in my world.” She poked him in the shoulder, still somehow unnerved to find he was a solid, living being. “If you want me to, you’ve got to prove that I can. Give me a reason.”

He matched her eyebrow. “And how, exactly, might I do that?”

Honestly, Jan wasn’t sure. “You’re smart,” she said. “You figure it out.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said, a little dryly – and, to her shock, took her hand and kissed the back of it.

Jan snatched it away. “None of that, remember?” she said, her eyes narrowing. Yes, her skin tingled a little, and yes, it was not unpleasant, but that didn’t mean she welcomed or wanted it. “I mean it – don’t even go there.”

He looked genuinely startled by her vehemence. “I meant no offense.”

She sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t. It’s complicated, and I can’t explain it right now.”

“I will refrain in the future,” he said, and she hoped she could believe him. “Good day, Jan. We will meet again soon.”

He turned, and was gone. She really, _really_ wanted to know how he did that.

She shook her head, and made her way back to the bus stop. She had some shopping to do – no matter what he said, she was still going to fairy-proof her house.

She was not, however, going to pee on the front step. Ew.

\--

Andrea and Beast were both visibly glad to be able to go home, though she looked rather askance at Jan’s bags of bread and oatmeal.

“Don’t ask,” Jan said. “I’m going to stop by the mechanic for a bit. Pet that cat while I’m gone.”

Andrea gave her a vague wave, and she headed back out into the sunshine. Even with her hand so banjaxed, she needed to see the shop for a bit.

Jan hadn’t been much use at school – she’d done okay, but that was all that could be said. Unlike her cousin, she’d never distinguished herself in any particular subject, but she’d always had an affinity for machinery. As Doug once put it, machines talked to her, and he wasn’t far off. To her, they were living things, to be protected and cared for, and they responded to her accordingly. If she wasn’t out hunting UFO’, she only felt truly at peace when she was elbow-deep in an engine, parts and tools spread out meticulously on her counter, surrounded by the soul of the metal.

Doug was the only one who never laughed at her when she talked about it. She’d started working for him when she was fifteen, first just doing odd jobs about the place, and he was the closest thing to a father figure she had. Unlike Aunt Sylvia, he’d never judged her, never found any fault with her accomplishments – or lack of them. He was the one who’d hauled her to AA, who’d sponsored her through the program.

And if nothing else, she had to hand Aunt Sylvia this: as much of a judgmental arsehole as she could be, she’d never been anything but supportive of Jan’s recovery. It might be the only thing she’d never criticized, but it was the most important. It was why, though Jan often wanted to strangle her aunt, she still loved her.

The walk to the mechanic was a long one, but Jan enjoyed the sunshine, even while the heat soared. She couldn’t remember a summer as warm as this, and it hadn’t even properly started yet. People in this part of England weren’t used to real heat – it was only a matter of time before they started complaining.

When she reached the shop, she found it already busy. It wasn’t a large business concern, but Doug had a reputation for good work and fair prices, so he had plenty of clientele. There was the tiny office, just big enough for three people and a coffee machine, and the garage, bright and airy. Huge slabs of pegboard held row upon row of gleaming tools – wrenches, ratchets, pliers, screwdrivers of all sizes. The counter beneath held plastic bins of nuts and bolts, each meticulously organized according to size.

One wall was entirely made up of hanging tires, the scent of new rubber mingling with that of oil. Otherwise, the parts were stored in a series of back rooms, tidy and out of the way.

Most people wouldn’t consider it homey, but Jan did. Even when it was full, even when it was busy as hell, it was her haven. There weren’t many mechanics, and they’d all been there long enough that they could move around one another with the precision of a ballet, offering tools or a free hand without needing asking.

A ’64 Dodge Dart sat in the first slot, its color an especially ugly yellow. It was probably meant to be mustard, but it looked like bile.

“I thought I told you to stay home and ride the Vicoden.”

Jan turned, and spotted Doug, wiping the grease off his hands with a stained red cloth. He was a big man, a few inches taller than Jan, somewhere in his early fifties, his muscle just starting to turn to fat. He’d lost most of his hair quite young, and shaved off the rest, leaving him bald as a baby.

“I was bored,” she said. “Thought I’d come in and breathe the air for a bit.”

“Did you hear about the lights over Carterhaugh?”

She held up her broken hand. “It’s how I got this. Went up to see them, Andrea and I. Some bloke got fresh with her, so I lamped him one.”

Doug clapped her on the back so hard it nearly drove the breath from her. “Good lass,” he said. “Come on to the back – I’m sure I can find something you can actually do. If nothing else, there’s loads to clean.”

To Jan, that sounded wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, sprinkling your doorway with your pee is in fact a traditional way to drive off the Far Folk.


	4. Stalking and Other Irritants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which, among other things, Jan’s aunt is annoying, the neighbor’s lawn houses creepy things, and Tam Lin is not the only supernatural stalker she acquires.

Mad though it was, Jan was almost disappointed when Tam Lin didn’t come knocking that night. No, she didn’t want him breaking _in_ , but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t mind a visit.

It _was_ mad, but she couldn’t help it. Supernatural things weren’t known for their safety, either in old tales or modern stories. She’d accepted that long ago. There was always going to be a certain level of bloody idiocy in pursuing them. You could be careful, you could take precautions, but you could never be truly safe.

She checked the news, wondering if he was still bothering with the lights, and discovered that he was. Perhaps he was bored, and liked watching all the UFO nuts like her. The hotel owners probably loved him for it, but she doubted the police did.

Oh well. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t turned up. She needed a good night’s sleep in her own bed.

\--

As it turned out, it was a good thing Jan got a proper night’s rest, because her aunt made a wholly unwelcome visit at arse o’clock the next morning.

Sylvia Hudson was a small, occasionally unbearably prim woman in her fifties, always well-put together, right down to her immaculately styled blonde hair. Today she had on slacks and a (doubtless expensive) black jumper, her feet encased in black heels that looked downright torturous. She never failed to make Jan feel like a scruffy, uncouth giant.

Jan, who could only thank bloody God they’d cleaned house. Aunt Sylvia had an almost pathological obsession with tidiness; she’d give out at anyone who disturbed the fringe on the carpets. Naturally, Jan never quite measured up, but in that at least, Mary didn’t, either.

“Come on in, Aunt Sylvia,” she said, and tried not to sound utterly defeated. Sure enough, her aunt’s blue eyes darted over the lounge, searching for anything that might be even slightly amid. She actually looked disappointed when she found nothing.

“You really did break your hand,” she said, eying the cast with disapproval.

“It’s not like I’ve ever hit anyone before,” Jan said, shutting the door behind her. “I hadn’t got much choice. He’d slipped Andrea a mickey.”

“Where were you two?” her aunt asked, with narrowed eyes.

“Never you mind where we were,” Jan said. “The point is that we’re both fine, and would you like a lemonade?” If she didn’t offer, she’d hear about it later, though Aunt Sylvia never accepted.

“No thank you, Janet,” her aunt sniffed. “You need to stop frequenting places where anyone could have a mickey slipped to them.” She said the word ‘mickey’ like it personally offended her, prowling the lounge very like a cat, inspecting the bookshelves for dust. The walls were lined with them, the shelves stacked two deep with paperbacks. “It’s past time you settled down with someone. You’re not a student, Janet – you have to stop living like one.”

It really was amazing, just how fast Aunt Sylvia could give her a headache. “We agreed not to talk about that anymore,” Jan said, struggling to keep her voice even. Aunt Sylvia had been glad she hadn’t dated while she was at school, but once she’d reached her twenties – especially once Mary started – the subject had been routinely, relentlessly harped upon.

“I only want what’s best for you, Janet,” her aunt said, turning to her. “You’d be much happier with a man. Or a woman – it’s the twenty-first century.”

Jan ground her teeth so hard she was afraid she’d crack a molar. “I _am_ happy,” she said. “I’ve got a job I love and plenty of friends. Besides, look what marriage did for Andrea, and a whole load of other people I know. Mary got lucky – hers turned out to be as good as he seemed at first. That’s not the norm.” Even her aunt couldn’t help but concede that.

“I just don’t understand you, Janet,” Aunt Sylvia said, shaking her head. Her hair had been held in place with so much hairspray that it didn’t move.

_Like you’ve ever tried_ , Jan thought. “You don’t have to,” she said, rubbing her temple. “Just accept it. Christ, Aunt Sylvia, why is _nothing_ I do ever good enough for you? You hate my house, you hate my job – you even hate my hobbies. Is there anything at all you approve of?”

There was more venom in her tone than she’d intended, and it actually made her aunt blink. “Well, you don’t drink anymore,” she said, after a truly awkward pause.

“No,” Jan sighed, “I don’t, and I mean it when I say I appreciate all the help you gave me. I just – I know you don’t mean to, Aunt Sylvia, but you’re a bit great at making me feel like a bloody failure. You’ve already got one you can actually be proud of. You don’t need two.”

She didn’t wait to hear her aunt’s response, because she knew already she wouldn’t like it. Instead she stuffed her feet into her sandals and headed out the door, not caring that her aunt would snoop in her absence.

Sylvia never seemed to realize that the subject she so loved harping on was one of the things that had driven Jan to drink in the first place. Among her boy-crazy peers, she stood out painfully at school, and had been accused more than once of being a closet lesbian, but she wasn’t attracted to girls, either. Not in that way.

There were plenty of people she found attractive, or even beautiful, but she wasn’t attracted _to_ them – honestly, she didn’t properly understand the concept to begin with. The thought of wanting to shag someone was so alien it was almost incomprehensible.

Jan knew she wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Her height seemed to intimidate most men, but she did get hit on from time to time, and it always made her extremely uncomfortable, even if the bloke was fit. If anything, that was actually worse, because nobody seemed to understand why she was uncomfortable. Even if she wasn’t interested, she was apparently meant to find it flattering, and she didn’t. She really didn’t.

Still, she’d lived with it, until her aunt – well-meaning but horribly misguided, as usual – tried to put her into therapy when she was twenty. Jan had always considered herself a bit weird, but she hadn’t felt actually broken until then. She’d never considered her lack of desire to shag someone as a problem that needed fixing.

That had been the first of many rows with aunt Sylvia over the matter

God, she wanted a drink. The pub was within walking distance, and she was bloody thirsty for something that burned on the way down. She hated being made to feel like she was broken, like there was something wrong with her. She. Was. Bloody. _Fine_.

She sighed. There would be an AA meeting at nine – she could kill some time until then. The air smelled of dry earth and sharp, bittersweet exhaust, and it was oddly soothing. It hadn’t rained in nearly a week – odd, for so early in the season – and she relished the dryness, breathing it in. Doug had taught her to focus on her surroundings when the thirst grew, to shut her conscious mine down as much as she could and just concentrate on the immediate physical world.

All the houses on the street were as old as hers, or had been; a few gleaming new monstrosities had gone up, but the lots were too small to tempt the rich. Some were well maintained, but others, like their left-hand neighbor, sat among a jungle of overgrown shrubs and ivy. It had been let to a pair of lads in their early twenties, who tended toward loud music at three a.m. on the weekends and wheelie-bins overflowing with greasy take-away wrappers. They were both terrified of Jan, who had once pounded on their door at one in the morning and threatened to smash their stereo over someone’s head if they didn’t turn it down. She might not be a violent woman, but she looked as though she easily could be.

Their lawn hadn’t been cut since last fall, and the grass, near as high as her knees, was thick with dandelions. Aunt Sylvia might deride them as a weed, but Jan’s mum used to make crowns with them, weaving the stems in a manner Jan had never managed to properly imitate.

She bent down to pluck one through the fence, and immediately recoiled. A pair of eyes peered out at her from the depths of the grass – small eyes, vivid orange, watching her intently.

Being, well, _her_ , her first thought was to wish she had her phone, so she could snap a picture. Yes, there was a face they belonged to, though it blended in nearly as well as a bloody Predator – squat and disturbingly human, with a bulbous nose and bushy eyebrows. It sat so still she might have taken it for a lawn-gnome, had it not blinked.

Jan staggered backward, heart lurching, and did the only thing she could think of – she ran like buggery.

The Mulder part of her brain wanted her to go back – hell, it wanted her to poke the thing with a stick – but she wasn’t that stupid. No, it didn’t look malicious, but what the hell did she know?

Running in flip-flops wasn’t easy, and she slowed when she reached the corner, letting the normality of morning traffic wash over her. Was that Tam Lin’s doing? Was he _spying_ on her?

Jan shook herself. Her pulse was racing far too fast for such a minor thing, but those damn eyes were just plain unnatural. If Tam Lin had anything to do with it, she’d skin him.

She drew a deep breath, hoping no one had seen her running like a complete tit. It was a bit of a walk to the rec center; she had a while to calm down before she faced actual people.

\--

Not many in Faerie knew what Tam Lin was doing, for there were not many who paid attention anymore. They clung to their islands of life, blinding themselves to the earth and all its iron. The bauchan, however, remained aware.

They still slipped easily between Earth and Faerie, silent and unseen, avoiding the sprawling, iron-filled cities. They followed Tam Lin, still knight to a queen whose mind was long since lost, wondering what he was plotting now.

Carterhaugh was easy to reach, for the ancient holy well was still there. Tam’s other destination was more difficult – and they didn’t like what they found. Iron, iron everywhere, streets of unnatural stone, the air filled with unfamiliar smells. There was green, yes, but it was tamed, constrained, lacking the vitality of the wilds. What, they wondered, he could he want _here_? What was in this strange house?

Uldon had sat amid the grass for two days now, wishing he was anywhere else. The iron made his head buzz, the earth beneath him unsteady with the passage of so many of those hulking metal things on wheels. The clean scent of the grass couldn’t mask the odor of the fumes they emitted, fumes that stung in his nose and lingered, bitter, at the back of his throat.

He’d thought he would sit forever, watching the mortals come and go, their lives too dull for words – until the lady. The lady who saw him.

No mortals truly saw the Fae anymore – they blended in too well, so well that mortal eyes skipped right over them, not wanting to believe. This one, though…she was truly mortal. If she’d had any distant Fae ancestry, he would have sensed it, but she didn’t – and yet, she saw him. Moreover, she saw him and ran, like a sensible mortal. Bauchan didn’t often bother with her kind anymore, but there were others who did, to their detriment.

Uldon couldn’t be certain she as what Tam Lin was after, but it was as decent a guess as any. He certainly hadn’t seen anything else worth braving so much iron for, though he’d keep looking anyway.

\--

By the time Jan reached the rec center, she’d mostly calmed. Aunt Sylvia was an irritant, yes, but nothing more, and her house was secured against the intrusion of whatever the hell that thing in the grass had been. Everything was copacetic, though she wished she’d taken a painkiller before she left. Her hand was beginning to ache.

This particular rec center was older than she was, and for some reason it always smelled of soup. The thin carpet had once been industrial-grey, but decades of passing feet had let dark trails across it, and the overhead fluorescents always buzzed. Still, she and a great many others had poured out much of themselves in it, stead on metal folding chairs like children in an assembly at school.

They’d been drawn into circles as usual, meticulously positioned by Big Dai, who was almost as obsessive about that sort of thing as Aunt Sylvia. Jan had thought him in his sixties, his face was so weathered, and been very surprised to learn he’d only been forty-two when they met.

“Haven’t seen you in a bit,” he said, painstakingly settling the last chair. A smoker since age fifteen, his voice was harsh and hoarse, his accent heavily Scouse.

“I’ve been busy,” she said. “Work was a madhouse, but I’m off for a bit.” She held up her right hand, and noticed the cast was already grubby.

He gave her a grin that could only be called proud. “Knew somebody’d bring out the Scot in you sooner or later.”

“Oh, piss off,” Jan said, but there was no rancor in it.

Tuesday mornings weren’t apt to be well-attended, but she made tea anyway, heating the kettle on an ancient hotplate that was a fire waiting to happen. She hoped someone would think to bring donuts, because her stomach was trying to eat itself, and letting out some rather unpleasant noises in the process. Such familiar tasks were a reminder that she still lived in the real, mundane world, no matter what might be lurking in the neighbor’s garden. She’d ask Tam about it, whenever she saw him next – and make certain her breadcrumbs were still in place. It might be wise to invest in one of those CCTV cameras, though what she’d do if it spotted anything, she didn’t know. She was _not_ going to pee in her yard, thank you so much.

The regulars trickled in, a few at a time. Some were pensioners, who had been coming to these meetings longer than Jan had been alive; others came and went in cycles, returning each time they fell off the wagon. There were a few new faces, all of which bore an expression she knew well, given how often she’d seen it in her own mirror two years ago: that of people who knew they’d hit rock bottom, and weren’t sure if it was possible to climb back out. They were the ones with sponsors in tow, trailing them like mother geese. Doug had been pestering her to be a sponsor herself, but Jan knew she wasn’t anywhere near ready to take on that level of responsibility. Not with only two years of sobriety under her belt.

Shannon, bless her, had in fact brought donuts. She was a motherly sort, in spite of her various substance problems, and stood aside so Jan could pounce on the box, stealing a large bearclaw. It wasn’t enough for a proper breakfast, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. She wolfed the thing in about three bites, shamelessly licking her sticky fingers as she headed to the loo to wash her hand.

Naturally, when she rounded a corner, she nearly ran smack into Tam Lin.

“You’re going to give me bloody heart failure,” she gasped, thwacking him on the arm. “What’re you _doing_ here?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Getting to know you,” he said, as though it were patently obvious. Christ but he was out-of-place in here – he was always an ethereal sort of bastard, but it was all the more obvious in this dingy hallway, beneath the harsh fluorescents. 

“In the real world, we call this stalking,” she grumbled, and wiped her fingers on his coat for punishment.

“I can only visit you three days a month, Jan,” he said, eyeing the sugary goo with blatant disgust. “Only so long as the moon is full. I must make the most of what time I have.”

That was…really disappointing, actually. Yeah, she wished he’d quit stalking her, but she wanted more opportunity to talk to him like a normal person. “Why?”

“I will sicken, if I do otherwise,” he said, dabbing at his coat. All he succeeded in doing was smearing the stain around. “You could always come to Carterhaugh.”

“Yeah, no,” she said, hoping that request wasn’t going to become a regular thing. Unfortunately, she was fairly sure it was.

“Do you really think I will hurt you, Jan?” he asked, tilting his head and regarding her quizzically.

“No,” she admitted, “but I can’t be sure of that, and I’m not an idiot. I’m not Mulder.”

“Who or what is Mulder?” he asked. The emphasis on the ‘Muld’ made her suspect he thought she was talking about actual fungus.

“If you’re still able to stick around tonight,” Jan said, before she could question the sanity of this suggestion, “come by my house, and I’ll introduce you to _The X-Files_. If you’re to spend any time in the real world, you’d best learn about it, and that’s as good a place as any to start. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get this off my fingers. If you’re bound and determined to lurk like a creepy lurker, at least don’t scare the others.”

Off she went, still headed for the loo. She’d ask about the garden-creature later, when she had a chance to pry a proper explanation out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Jan’s got to introduce Tam Lin to _The X-Files_. Of course she does. At least he’ll find it explains a great deal about her.


	5. Testing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jan makes plans (and tests Tam Lin), Tam is a little shit, and the supernatural stalking continues.

Jan left her meeting rather calmer than she’d gone into it, but it didn’t last. Her had ached, and the heat was making her cast itch. She couldn’t drive like this, she couldn’t work, and she had no way of knowing if Tam bloody Lin was spying on her. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, and she sighed.

Why _her_? She could think of loads of women who would actually appreciate an attractive, supernatural stalker. Why did she have to be the one who was immune to his psychological whammy, or whatever it was? She had an unfortunate feeling he wasn’t going to go away until he got whatever the hell it was he actually wanted. She didn’t believe for a moment that he was as unable to speak of it as he said. Fairies supposedly couldn’t lie, but they were infamous in folklore for bending the truth like a pretzel. If he really wanted her to know, he’d find a way

What would Scully do? Jan had been so fixated on not being Mulder that she hadn’t stopped to wonder what his tiny, skeptical partner would do about… _this_. Once she got over the initial disbelief, she’d look at the entire thing logically, insofar as that was possible.

That was somewhat difficult for Jan to do, as she dodged pedestrians and wished like hell she could drive. Tam Lin wanted his freedom from the fairy realm, but what did he think he was going to do afterward? Legally, he didn’t exist. Even if he’d had any basic marketable, twenty-first century skills, he couldn’t get a job, couldn’t rent a flat. Unless she wanted to be completely heartless and give him the boot, she was going to be stuck with him.

Brilliant.

Could she refuse to help him? It would be a seriously bitchy thing to do, and she didn’t want to do it, but would he even let her if she did?

_I wish the truth had stayed out there_ , she thought. She was in way over her head, and she didn’t have anyone to turn to.

But maybe, just maybe, she did. Mary’s husband’s sister-in-law’s cousin was apparently some kind of professor in literature and folklore (and, as Aunt Sylvia so pointedly told her, single and moderately attractive). _He_ might be able to help, if she could give him a reason that didn’t sound utterly insane.

_I’ll tell him I’m writing a book_. Once the full moon was over, and she could be certain Tam Lin wasn’t spying on her, she’d take a trip to Cambridge and see what he had to say.

Scully would do her homework, and so would Jan.

\--

Having nothing better to do, Jan went into work and sorted tools for a while, surrounded by the music of air compressors and electric drills. Loud though it was, she’d always found it soothing. Her fingers were greasy from the oily sheen still left on a few of the tools – that had to be Andy, who never did properly clean up after himself – and her cast was even dirtier, but she didn’t mind. The mechanic was the only place she truly felt in control of herself, and she needed that now.

If Tam Lin decided to show up on her doorstep tonight, she was forcing him to watch _The X-Files_ and eat himself sick on take-away curry. If he was determined to stalk her, he was going to have to take her as she was, because she was a creature of habit, and she’d be damned if she’d change it for his sake. If he was willing to stick around through that, she might start to trust him. A smidge.

She left at closing time, walking home in the lingering heat. The sunset was downright unsettling – there was still enough air pollution leaking from Manchester to turn the western sky a hellish red. There wasn’t a breath of wind, so the scent of sun-baked asphalt coiled around her undisturbed.

When she passed the lads’ house, she paused. To peer or not to peer, that was the question. The windows were dark; nobody was home to see her. After a few moments’ hesitation, her inner Mulder won out, and she crouched to get a better look at the undergrowth.

The orange-eyed creature was no longer there, but in its place sat a scaly, grey, spindly thing, perhaps six inches high while seated. Jan stared at it, and it stared at her, blinking its bulbous green eyes.

“I have to take a piss on my doorstep, don’t I?” she asked, more to herself than the…thing. She might not know what it was, but she _did_ know she didn’t want to wake up to find it on her dresser. Then again, if it did, Beast would probably eat it.

Shaking her head, she rose and headed to her own yard. Andrea wasn’t home yet, and might not be for some while, if she’d decided to hit the pub after work. Jan really was starting to worry about her drinking habits.

No sooner had she opened the front door than Beast lumbered down the stairs and slammed into her shins like a furry wrecking ball, his purr as loud as a muffler on the fritz. When she clicked on the lights in the lounge, she found it didn’t look as though Aunt Sylvia had actually gone through her stuff this time. Thank God for small mercies.

The scent of lemon cleaner was still too strong, so Jan went around and opened all the windows, careful not to disturb any of her bread crumbs. When she reached the one near the back door, she just about choked on her own spit.

How a man as pretty ad Tam Lin could be so ungodly creepy, she didn’t know, but finding him standing just outside her window nearly made her piss herself. While it was hard to forget he wasn’t human, his expression, or lack of one, was so alien she recoiled.

But then he smirked, dispelling the impression, and rather made her want to smack him. She wrenched the door open, wincing at the squealing hinges, and glowered at him.

“I did not break in,” he said, with an innocence she didn’t buy for a moment.

“Twat,” she said. “Get inside, before the neighbors see you.”

He had to duck to get through the doorway, squeezing past her, and Jan briefly wondered what the hell she was actually doing, inviting this creature into her home. He still smelled like a storm, the scent filling the cramped corridor, and for a moment she found herself dizzy. She’d never been to a desert, but she wondered if this was what one smelled like, metallic and bittersweet.

She watched as he moved past her, trying to use her Scully-eyes. Even if she hadn’t known what he was, she could never have mistaken him for human, but she wondered just what effect he had on other people – the storm-scent made her dizzy, but would it do that to everyone? How much of it was innately him, and how much a projection? He’d said he could look like different things to different people, so was _she_ even seeing the real him? 

“I can feel your gaze on the back of my head,” he said. “What are you wondering?”

“Loads of things, but they can wait,” she said, leaving him to poke about the lounge while she called in an order for chicken tikka, as spicy as it came. It was a bit evil of her, but she wanted to see how he’d handle it. If he was ever to have to function in the real world, he’d need to be able to handle all sorts of things currently outside his experience.

“I hope you actually eat food,” she added, kicking her sandals off as she headed into the lounge. Tam looked utterly out-of-place in such a pleasantly threadbare environment, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He was standing before the sofa, staring at Beast, who sat on the back and glared at him.

“I don’t think he likes you, but don’t take it personally,” she said, fighting laughter. “Beast hates most people.” It was true, but she’d also never seen him glare like that. Even Aunt Sylvia didn’t get such an intense stink-eye from the cat. Jan probably shouldn’t have lobbed him at Tam’s head, but it was too late now.

She went upstairs before he could respond, fishing her DVD set of the first season of The X-Files from her untidy bookcase. Maybe he’d get too confused, and would back off long enough to let her see John’s sister-in-laws’s cousin’s whatever in peace.

When she returned to the lounge, she found Tam and Beast still locked in a staring contest. This would either get entertaining or horrifying if she let it go on, so she snapped her fingers.

Amusingly, both of them looked at her. “You, sit,” she said pointing at Tam. “You, don’t eat his face,” she added, grabbing Beast. The cat yowled in protest, but stayed put when she set him on the arm of the sofa. “These are DVD’s. This is a television. You’re going to become familiar with both.” Andrea had won custody of the TV in the divorce; it was a forty-eight-inch plasma monstrosity that blocked the unused fireplace.

“I have been out of the world too long, I think,” Tam said, sitting as bidden. The ancient sofa creaked a bit as he settled himself, and he had to shove the coffee-table halfway across the lounge to make room for his legs. “It seems more and more strange to me.”

“Mate, you’ve no idea,” she said, popping in the first disc. “Just wait ’til my hand’s better and I’ll teach you to drive.” _That_ ought to provide hours of entertainment, and it wasn’t like she couldn’t replace the clutch when he inevitably destroyed it.

\--

Tam Lin realized, quite belatedly, that he might just be in well over his head.

He’d neither seen nor imagined anything like this television, these stories which were essentially very elaborate plays. Television, electricity, cars…he was woefully unprepared. He was going to need Jan’s help in more ways than he had thought.

Even the _food_ was strange. Like most Scots of his day, he had grown up on a diet mainly of pottage, ale, and brown bread, and meals in Faerie tended to be either too sweet or too rich. Never had he tasted anything that burned his mouth like this did, yet Jan seemed to mind not at all. 

Tam could see quite a bit of this Mulder character in her – she wanted to believe, possibly more than realized, but her innate caution was going to make his life difficult. Already she was testing him, with these assorted human things, and he knew she would allow him no closer until he passed.

She would not love him easily, but he _could_ ensure she wanted him nearby. And the fact that she did not, and likely _would_ not desire him…it made him feel less guilty. It was easier to tell himself he was not using her if she did not allow him into her bed.

Tam was not nearly so cruel as to ever let her _know_ she was being used. When she broke him free of Faerie, he would make her think him dead. She would mourn, but she would move on, and not think on him with hatred.

Perhaps he would have loved her, if he could, but his heart had been buried with the original Janet. This Jan deserved better than what he had to offer, but that was not going to stop him.

So he ate his tongue-blistering supper, and watched her odd plays. He was surprised to find he actually enjoyed them – while there was much he did not understand, humanity’s strive for knowledge was a constant, and both of these characters were filled with it, if in different ways.

“Jan,” he said, “come to Carterhaugh. Not within the forest,” he went on, holding up a hand to forestall her protest. “You do not trust me yet, but I understand why. Come and sit beyond the forest’s edge, and I will tell you all that I have seen in Faerie. You know already that I cannot beguile you into following me, and I would see you more often than three days a month, if you would allow it.”

She turned to face him, her black, black eyes searching his face. For a human, her gaze was unusually direct and piercing, and part of him feared she would guess his true purpose. “I’ll not be able to drive for another six weeks,” she said, and while there was hesitance in her voice, there was also that hunger, Mulder’s hunger – she didn’t just want to believe, she wanted to _know_. “Then…maybe I’ll come. _Maybe_.”

Tam fought a smirk. She would come, and he would give her all the answers she sought. This, he could give her – and he would give her his friendship, his affection, even if he could not give her love she actually deserved. He would see her smile, would see the light of discovery in her black eyes. She would walk away with as much as he could bestow upon her, in what time they had together.

\--

Tam left before Andrea got home, which was probably just as well. She really didn’t need to be seeing the guy who’d supernaturally doped her again – not yet, anyway.

_Would_ Jan go to Carterhaugh, when she could? Probably, but she wanted a gun first. Handguns were illegal in Britain, but you could still get a hunting rifle, provided you could pass the certification. She’d probably never need it, but she’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

She gathered the remnants of their Styrofoam take-away containers, dumping them in the bin outside so they wouldn’t stink up the house. The night air was cool and still, the city as quiet as it ever got, but the skin on the back of her neck prickled. She felt _watched_ , and she was probably right. If only she’d asked Tam about the things in the garden, but he was a distracting sort of bastard even when he wasn’t trying.

She glanced up at the moon. This was the last night he’d be able to visit her, and it was something of a relief. Between now and the next full moon, she’d make a list of things to ask him.

Shivering, she headed back inside, checking the strip of bread crumbs she’d secured to the bottom of the door. Tomorrow, she’d see what she needed to do to get herself a rifle. She would also devise more tests for Tam – he’d passed the first one when he didn’t spit out his curry.

She looked around her little house as she shut and locked all the windows – her quiet, ordinary, gently shabby little house. It was nice to have a bastion of normalcy, because while she wanted to believe, she wanted to do it on her terms.

She’d call Mary, and see if she could get in touch with that professor. Granted, it meant she had to convince her cousin she was actually _writing_ a book, but she’d think of something. Meanwhile, she was about to slip into a curry-induced food-coma.

\--

The Pookah watched Tam Lin leave, lurking in the overgrown garden. The strange girl had spotted it earlier, but she’d regarded it with confusion and, it would swear, exasperation, rather than fear.

Once he was gone, the Pookah crept toward her house, darting around the back. The bottom windows were closed, but those above were still open, and it scurried silently up the walls. It could have easily torn through the screen, if not for the scattering of breadcrumbs across the windowsill. _Smart_ girl.

It hopped up to the roof, eying the chimney. Would she have thought to line the hearth? There was only one way to find out.

There had to be a reason this girl managed to draw Tam Lin out of his forest after so very, very long. The Pookah was damn well going to find out what it was.

\--

In Faerie, the Queen dreamed.

She was not truly asleep, but neither was she truly awake, and she had not been in centuries. She hovered between, lost in her madness in her decaying realm.

There were none who dared disturb her, but by now there were none who gave her loyalty, either. She lingered in power because all feared what she might do, if roused; should there be a way to oust her, most would take it in a heartbeat.

A ripple ran among the people now, small and shallow. Word of Tam Lin’s odd doings was spreading, and while none knew his plans, they were beginning to form their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeah, Tam’s got some issues of his own to work through. Losing the first Janet hit him hard. Just wait, though; I mostly have the outline hammered out.


End file.
